A/N: I'm baaaaaaack. *evil grin* Sorry for the long wait.
Marik's stomach growled for the fiftieth time in half as many minutes. He wondered when exactly Bakura was planning on feeding him. Then he wondered if this was part of Bakura's plan, to let him slowly starve to death instead of killing him quickly and painlessly.
"Definitely sounds like something he would do," Marik muttered. "He lets me wander free, tries to gain my trust, only to kill me as slow as possible, days of torture waiting ahead."
With a sigh, Marik stretched his arms above his head until he felt his back pop. He had to admit, it was great, being able to move about freely for the first time in what felt like weeks.
"If I had been stuck in here for weeks, I would've starved to death long before now," Marik thought out loud. "I'd say it's been two days at the most."
His stomach cried out again, and he wrapped his arms around his torso, attempting to quiet its protests.
"Would you shut up?" he muttered. "I don't have anything to give you right now, so just be patient. You're making it difficult to think here." Even as he said this, he couldn't help but think, "And what, exactly, is it I'm thinking about?" White hair and a cruel smirk flashed across his mind's eye. He shook his head violently. He would not allow himself to think about the outlaw who had caused this mess. Bakura may be handsome, but that couldn't make up for the injustices done to Marik and countless other people.
Wait...had he really just used the word "handsome" to describe Bakura Touzokou? The lack of food must be affecting his brain more than he thought.
"Bakura Touzokou is a cruel, bloodthirsty demon who needs to be exterminated at all costs," Marik said, trying to sound determined. He let out a dejected sigh. "But I'm not the one who can do that... It was foolish of me to think that I could kill someone in the first place. Even more foolish to think I could kill a killer."
Marik shook his head again. This was not the time to be thinking these things. He had to make a plan of some kind. He looked around the room, his gaze settling on the table in the corner that held all the money the thief had stolen.
"Maybe I could take some of that, steal his horse, and make a run for it," he thought. "His hideout can't be too far away from the village. Maybe if I make it there, I can lead the sheriff and his men back here and catch Bakura off guard." Marik glanced at the door, which Bakura always sealed from the outside. "I just need a way to open that first..."
Marik stood up and walked to the door. He pressed both hands against it and shoved with all his might. When the door didn't budge, he threw his entire body against it, ignoring the way some of his muscles (especially in his lower back) screamed in protest. The door still refused to give. With a defeated slump in his shoulders, Marik stepped away from the door.
"No good. I can't open it on my own..." He sat down on the floor. It was better than sitting on the bed where Bakura had forced him to break the law so many times. "So now what am I supposed to do?" With a sigh, he lay down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Maybe I should just lay here until I die." He rolled his head to one side. He blinked. What was that? He sat up and reached under the bed, grasping the small metal box and pulling it out.
"Is this where he keeps his more expensive treasures? I didn't think a thief would be wary of other thieves." Carefully, Marik shook the small box. To his surprise, he didn't hear the rattling of coins, but a soft thudding sound.
"So, if it's not money, what's in here...? What is it that's so important that he has to keep it in a metal box? A locked metal box at that," Marik mumbled, noticing the slightly rusted padlock keeping the box sealed off from curious, probing eyes. He tugged halfheartedly at the lock, not expecting it to open but willing to try all the same. As he expected, the lock didn't break.
"Hmm..." Marik glanced up, lavender eyes scanning the room. "There has to be something I can use to get this thing open..." He stood up and placed the box on the bed, looking for something heavy enough to break the lock. His gaze finally rested on a pile of rocks nestled in the corner. Bakura had probably tossed them there after he built the hideout and hadn't taken the time to put them outside.
Marik walked over and selected a decent-sized rock, about the size of his fist. With luck, it would break through the lock and he could find out what Bakura was keeping hidden.
Marik stared down at the box and brought the rock down onto the lock. Other than causing a few sparks, nothing happened. Frowning, Marik hit the lock again. Still nothing. Frustrated, Marik slammed the rock down with all his might. The lock gave out, snapping into two pieces. Marik set the rock down, moved the pieces of the lock aside and opened the box, eyes widening as he saw its contents.
A small, leather-bound book. A journal by the looks of it. Raising one eyebrow, Marik picked it up and opened it, reading the inscription on the first page;
"This stupid little book belongs to Bakura Touzokou, the future king of thieves. Let any and all who attempt to read this be warned that a horde of thieves and outlaws will find you in the middle of the night, slit your throat, and steal your women and valuables. Like Indians do. Amane, if you even think about reading this, I will skin you alive and boil your innards for the horses dinner."
Marik frowned. Bakura kept a journal? Scratch that. Bakura had written in a journal and actually kept it? And not just kept it - kept it hidden? Why? What was written in it that was so important that the "great" Bakura Touzokou would not only keep it, but make sure that no one could ever find it?
Marik swallowed. He had a bad feeling that whatever was written in this journal was nothing good. In fact, knowing Bakura, it was definitely nothing good. And yet, something deep within his mind compelled Marik to sit down on the bed, open the journal to its first entry, and begin to read the innermost thoughts of Bakura Touzokou.
June 5
My name is Bakura Touzokou, and sumday I'm gonna be the king of thiefs. So why my father thot it was a good idea to gimme this stoopid book, I'll never no.
Marik smirked; obviously, a good education was not high on the "king of thieves" list of things that were important in life.
I don't see why the old man thot I'd have more use for this thing than my sister. But I supose that ther's nuthin' better to do 'round here, since Father won't let me talk to any of the other kids here. He sez havin' frends wood in-ter-fear with my "trainin'" so I supose it'd be best if I din't have none. Speekin' of trainin', I'd best stop writtin' and get back to doin' work 'fore Pa comes back and sees me slackin'. I dunno if I can go much longer with no food.
Marik raised one eyebrow as he turned the page. Bakura's father had "trained" his son by not feeding him if he disobeyed? Even Marik's father was better than that, even if he and Marik had never exactly been close.
August 18
At times, I kinda wish Pa wood take me out on a job. Jus' so I'd no what I was doin' when I finally get the chance to. Pa don't care about me none. He only cares about Amane, my sister. She's the one who always gets real food, and real blankets, and pretty much everything I don't get. I dunno what I ever did to make Pa hate me, but I wish I cood take it back somehow. I'd better stop ther. If anyone ever reads this thing, they'd never let me heer the end of it. I hate lookin' week, so I'd better not go and writt nuthin' to inporant in heer.
Marik chuckled slightly. The outlaw's spelling was horrendous. Then again, if his father really was a well-known bandit, he probably wouldn't have been too terribly concerned with teaching his son proper spelling and grammar. Or taking proper care of his son, from the sound of it.
Sept 21
It's official. As soon as Pa's dead or run away, I am killing my little sister. She went an red this thing behind my back and as soon as Pa was gone for the day, she started mockin' me fer wantin' more atention from Pa. I got so mad that I punched her in the eye, making it broose an swell up somethin' awful. 'Course, as soon as Pa got back, she goes runnin' up to him, makin' it sound like I hit her fer no good reeson, and Pa din't lissen to my side of the story at all, he juss made me go with no food fer the rest of today AND tomorow and made me do all Amane's chores along with mine. I hate her. I hate them both. What makes my sister so special that she gets treated like a princess, while me, the future king, is treated like a slave? It ain't fair, it juss ain't fair.
Marik felt a surprise feeling of sympathy for the young outlaw. He didn't know what it was like for a sibling to be treated better, since Odion had raised him and Ishizu, but he couldn't help but feel sorry for Bakura, who was not only treated poorly by his father, but also overshadowed by his little sister. Marik turned the page again, and the next entry, only two sentences long, sent a slight chill through him.
Nov 3
I hate my father. I wish he wood die.
No explanation, just those two sentences, accompanied by what Marik could only assume were spots of long-dried blood. Or were they tears? Marik couldn't tell, and he honestly didn't want to know. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Bakura hadn't snuck in without him knowing, he turned to the last entry in the journal.
I don't know what month or day it is. I don't care. Pa is dead, and Amane most likely is to. Good riddance, I say. The Injuns burnt down the village and murdered my pa. I don't care. I don't feel anything. Amane prolly died in the fire with the rest of the village. That's fine with me. I never liked none of them. They never liked me either. I'm at some ranch house. The folks heer are nice, but stoopid. They have no clue that I plan to rob them as soon as my arm is better and I can breeth normal again. I am the only surviver. I am the king of thiefs. Someday, everyone will know to fear the name Bakura Touzokou. I swear this by the bloodstained memory of my home.
Marik stared at the page with wide eyes. So that was why Bakura was so cruel. He was trying to prove himself to his father in the only way he knew how; being even more cruel and bloodthirsty than the man who raised him. Marik closed the book and held it close.
"So that's your big secret, Bakura," he whispered, using the bandit's name for the first time ever.
"Find something interesting, did we?" Marik jumped to his feet and whirled around, the journal falling to the ground in his haste. Bakura stood leaning against the door, his reddish-brown eyes glaring at Marik from beneath the brim of his night-black hat. He straightened and stormed over to Marik until he was almost nose-to-nose with the younger boy. Bending down, the white-haired outlaw retrieved the book containing his most precious secrets from the dusty ground. He stared at it for a long time.
"This book...was hidden for a long, long time. It's been years since I've even touched it, much less written in it," he said softly, running his fingers over the course leather cover. Before Marik could say anything, Bakura threw the book down, grabbed his collar and threw him against the wall. Marik fell to the ground with a soft grunt.
"I kept that thing hidden for a reason, you bastard!" Bakura yelled, eyes gleaming crimson in the low light. Marik scrambled to his feet only to have a punch land in his gut. The tan boy doubled over, gasping for air. Bakura grasped a fistful of his blonde hair and yanked his head back forcefully.
"I tried to be nice. I untied you. I let you wander around freely without me supervising you. And the thanks I get..." he slammed Marik back againstthe wall, his hands on either side of the other male's head and his face mere centimeters away. "Is you going behind my back and snooping through my personal property?"
"If you didn't want me to find it, maybe you shouldn't have untied me at all!" Marik yelled back, shoving at the pale outlaw. Bakura grabbed the boy's hands and pinned them above his head, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"You're right. Perhaps I should fix that problem and make sure you never go through my things again!"
Before Marik knew what was happening, Bakura threw him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him. Marik cursed and tried to push the outlaw off of him, but Bakura's fury made him stronger and he had Marik's hands tied behind his back before he knew what was happening. Marik felt furious tears falling from his eyes as Bakura began to remove their clothes.
"To think that for a second I actually felt sorry for you!" he screamed, thrashing as Bakura leaned over him. The outlaw paused for a second, staring down at his captive with an odd look in his eyes. Finally, he spoke.
"I'm an outlaw. I murder, I steal, I do anything I feel like doing. If you feel sorry for me, there's no hope for you. I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me."
"Everyone needs someone to feel something for them at some point," Marik shot back, tears still in his eyes. "You weren't always an outlaw."
"There are two kinds of people in this world, Marik," Bakura snarled. "Those like you that were born a little goody-goody, and those like me, who were born with a pistol in each hand and a heart of black."
"You weren't born that way. And I'm not nearly as innocent as you think I am."
Bakura stared down at the younger male for a long time. Sympathy, for an outlaw? Pah! The boy was insane. Bakura had been born wicked, and would always be wicked until he was hanging from a tree limb, waiting to be picked apart by the birds and the bugs. And yet...somehow, what the boy was saying struck a chord in Bakura. Had he been born a cruel demon, or an innocent child that just wanted his father's approval?
"I'm right, aren't I?" Marik's voice broke into Bakura's thoughts. "You know I'm right."
"...Why don't you just shut the hell up?" Bakura snapped. He grabbed Marik's shoulders and forced the boy to lie flat on the mattress. "The only sound I want to hear coming from you is screams of torture, understand?"
Marik squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for what was about to come. It didn't hurt as much anymore, and he found that if he concentrated, he could block out the majority of what was going on. But this time was different. To his surprise, he felt something wet land on his face. Opening his eyes, he was shocked at what he saw.
Bakura Touzokou, outlaw extra ordinaire...
Was crying.
Okay, I am slightly paranoid with the end of this chapter. I personally don't think that the rating needs to be upped to M, but if people start getting on my case about it, I will. I think it's fine if I leave the story at a high T, but I don't know if others agree or not.
It's been forever since I've updated, I know, and my only excuse is that I've had so many ideas for other fanfics that I want to write, and I've ended up with a bunch of half-written plot bunnies and I've totally neglected my current stories. That, and I've gotten a Tumblr. And it is just as addicting as they say. Every spare minute, that's where I am. I actually have an internet window open on tumblr and I'm repeatedly checking it as I write this, it's very distracting. Anyway, I'll try to get back to updating more often, but I make no promises. (Sorry for bothering you with this long author's note, anyone who actually bothered to read this! Now, if you'll excuse me...I have a Gym Leader to beat on my Pokemon game.)
R&R, please!